


The Archivist and the Mole

by closetcellist, DelusionsbyBonnie, The London-in-the-Air Archival Society (sakuuya)



Series: New Adventures of the London-in-the-Air Archival Society [4]
Category: Battle for London in the Air
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-04
Updated: 2019-05-04
Packaged: 2019-05-13 07:37:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 5,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14744658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/closetcellist/pseuds/closetcellist, https://archiveofourown.org/users/DelusionsbyBonnie/pseuds/DelusionsbyBonnie, https://archiveofourown.org/users/sakuuya/pseuds/The%20London-in-the-Air%20Archival%20Society
Summary: Rescued set descriptions (and set images, where possible) from round seven of the Polyvore Battle group The New Adventures of London-in-the-Air. Primarily not my work, uploaded here for archival purposes.





	1. Round Information / @sakuuya

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was written by Polyvore user @sakuuya, aka [sakuuya](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sakuuya). It was part of the set-up for this round.

Happy new year, everybody! It is my strong hope that, starting now, we’ll have a run of plot-centric contests for a few months, though I think we’ll need one more “bonus” round before wrapping this thing up entirely. As usual, thanks to everybody who participated in the previous round! If you particularly enjoyed @multifandomgal’s Western AU...stay tuned, because I might have something in the pipeline that’ll interest you. ;)

For now, though, I’m laser-focused on burning through LITA’s remaining plot threads! This contest concerns the identities of the the Archivist and the mole (respectively Percy Albright and Vernon Massey, in case you forgot). On the plot wrap-up set (https://www.polyvore.com/cgi/set?id=217300035), this contest covers the 11th-17th bullet points in the Main Plot Summary section—that is, the one that begins “REVELATION TIME” to the one that begins, “Whether Massey is killed or captured…” That covers probably a couple weeks of in-game time, maybe more. Note that while Dr. Massey is DEFINITELY outed some time this round, Percy is not, so it’s possible that his position as the Archivist is not revealed to the rebellion as a whole this round, depending on what the OCs do.

On that note, even though the answers to the mysteries they’re investigating are already known by us players out-of-character, in-universe, it’s up to your OCs to figure out who the Archivist and mole are. They can do this however you want, and I want to stress again that the revelations of this round are stretched out over a couple weeks of in-game time, so you have plenty of time to investigate. If you’re convinced that your character wouldn’t find out either secret identity, you can write about them reacting to Daphne Massey unmasking her husband, or write about them being wrong. The description reqs specifically allow for the latter. :D

The government and its soldiers are still trying to ferret out resistance bases while all this is going on, but so far, they haven’t had any success. Go ahead and treat them as background noise for now, unless you have something specific in mind.

As usual, feel free to answer the description requirements in story or summary form as the spirit moves you.

EXAMPLE SET: https://www.polyvore.com/cgi/set?id=233461813

[[Q: Wait, why did we jump right from contest 5 to contest 7? What happened to contest 6?

A: So, uh, I didn’t change the numbers when I copy/pasted my contest-description form last time. The AU contest was actually contest 6, and I just can’t count. Sorry for the confusion!]]

\-----

Starting this round, your OCs have the opportunity to start whittling down the NPC cast with their own hands. You’re still allowed to claim one NPC per round; if you claim somebody who’s listed as “killed by an OC” and you want to kill them, your OC must be personally responsible for that NPC’s death. It can be self-defense or an accident or etc., but you can’t pawn off their death onto a group NPC or have them die of a random heart attack. If you claim a “killed by an OC” NPC and want to save them, you must include that NPC in your story but don’t otherwise have to deal with their death. If you’d like to kill off an NPC who isn’t listed for a given round, let me know what you’ve got planned and I’ll probably approve it. ;)

You’ll also note going forward that the list of NPCs you can kill does not match up perfectly with the casualty list on the wrap-up set. Unless an NPC is somebody’s love interest, they will be up for grabs at some point. Also, basically, an NPC who’s listed as “killed by an OC” will live unless an OC does something, while an NPC who’s listed as anything else will die unless an OC does something. There are probably exceptions to this, but it’s a good rule of thumb.

NPCS MOVED TO THE DEAD LIST AFTER LAST ROUND:  
\- Cedric Thornton (Killed by Nori Lynch before she defected)  
\- Adrianna Barclay (Killed by Nori Lynch before she defected)  
\- Xavier Carmichael (Killed by Alastair Hazard for being a spy for the Crown)  
\- Bart Spencer (Died of natural causes)

NPCs WHO DEFINITELY DIE THIS ROUND:  
\- Clinton Sterling (killed by his wife after discovering her mad-science experiments)  
\- Nori Lynch (killed by Kara (@fashionqueen76) during a failed attempt on Dr. Massey’s life)

NPCs WHO MAY DIE THIS ROUND:  
\- Prof. Gilbert (killed by Dr. Massey for spilling the beans about his involvement in the raid on Pi)

\-----

SET REQUIREMENTS  
[ ] 1+ pictures of your character  
[ ] 1+ pictures Percy Albright (fc Jude Law) and/or Dr. Massey (fc Charles Dance)  
[ ] A spider or spiderweb  
[ ] A picture of eyes  
[ ] A sheet or scrap of paper

DESCRIPTION REQUIREMENTS  
[ ] Write about one of the following:  
\- Your character figuring out who the Archivist is  
\- Your character figuring out who the main mole in the rebellion is  
\- Your character being wrong about either of the above ;)  
[ ] What does your character do with their information?  
[ ] What does your character think should be done about the Archivist? The Mole? (regardless of whether they know who each one is)  
[ ] Are you planning to have your character participate in the raid on the government labs? If not, what would you like to see in terms of alternate requirements next round?  
[ ] Tag the mods @decoder13 and @sakuuya


	2. Dr. Jhandir / @sakuuya

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was written by Polyvore user @sakuuya, aka [sakuuya](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sakuuya).

It was commonplace now for Dr. Jhandir to make his reports directly to Dr. Massey at the Λ-Ν base, if Massey happened to be in. Today, Dr. Jhandir had made sure he’d get to meet with Massey, for he had business both pressing and secret in addition to the ordinary matter of infirmary paperwork. He was sure Dr. Massey could tell that there was something on his mind, but the older man just watched him placidly once they’d exchanged greetings. Dr. Jhandir, for his part, perched on the edge of his chair, unable to fully contain his nervousness.

“Here are the most recent casualty reports, sir. There have been a higher-than-usual number of casualties in the past fortnight, due to the increased presence of the soldiery, but those are mostly just flesh wounds. Oh, and you’ll be pleased to hear that Professor Gilbert is fully recovered, more or less,” When Massey didn’t seem to be taking the hint, he added, “he remembers more than I expected him to about what happened during the attack.”

If Dr. Massey understood what Dr. Jhandir was driving at, there was no way to tell, not the slightest twitch of a muscle to give him away. Dr. Jhandir glanced back toward the closed door and lowered his voice before continuing.

“Gilbert claims that the reason you weren’t hurt during the attack on Π is because you helped plan it. He says you signalled the assassins to begin the attack.”

Now he had Massey’s full attention. He was tensed, ready to grab his cane and use it as a bludgeon should Massey leap up and attack him.

“Blast it,” Massey said, not sounding at all perturbed. “I should have made sure Heaton finished him off.”

“So it was you?” Dr. Jhandir asked, horror-struck. He’d assumed Gilbert was lying, playing some angle. “How could you?”

Dr. Massey sighed. He still looked perfectly calm, perfectly in command. “I had to be sure that, when the dust settled, I would be in control of the city. In order to do that, I needed to ensure that neither side would be strong enough to oppose me when the time came. You’ve seen what a hash Hazard is making of the city, and can you imagine Helena as mayor? You know as well as I do that I’m the only serious candidate. Besides, where’s the challenge if everything goes smoothly for the rebellion?”

So the man was mad. He’d endangered the whole rebellion because, what? It was more interesting for him? Inconceivable. Dr. Jhandir felt his face grow hot with rage and shame, and was thankful that his coloring disguised the worst of the flush. He couldn’t believe he’d been fool enough to trust this lunatic, to have considered him a mentor and friend.

The one advantage Dr. Jhandir still possessed was that he had genuinely liked and trusted Massey. If he could maintain the facade that he still did, he could make it out of here safely and corroborate Gilbert’s story. He would see Massey killed for lying to him all this time.

“Thank you for being honest with me, sir.” Once you had no other choice, he did not add.

“I hadn’t planned on telling you, but I don’t regret it,” Dr. Massey said, sounding pleased. “You’ve always been a smart man, Anil.”

"Did you tell the government I'm still alive?" It was a horrifying thought, but he had to know.

"Don't be absurd. You're far too useful an ally. Why, if not for me, they may have uncovered your deception years ago, but I've been keeping you secret.”

“Then will you grant me a request?”

“Go on.”

“Protect Andrew O’Rourke, not just me. I know some of the things he’s wanted for in Ireland and how valuable that could make him as a bargaining piece, but I don’t want him to come to harm as part of your coup.”

It was a calculated risk. If anything, asking that Andrew be protected only increased the likelihood of Massey making him a target, even if Dr. Jhandir were to keep his word. His gamble paid off, though, as Dr. Massey’s expression took on a patronizing fondness.

“Anil… I know you’re fond of O’Rourke, but this attachment is unseemly. Muscle is muscle, and it’s easy enough to purchase the loyalty of thugs.”

“Nonetheless,” Dr. Jhandir said firmly. He could practically see the calculations going on behind Dr. Massey’s eyes, how the older man was reconsidering how respectable—how dangerous—Dr. Jhandir could be if he harbored such sentimentality.

“All right. If that’s really what you want, I won’t do anything to put the paddy in danger.”

Shock and anger flashed into Dr. Jhandir’s mind at the slur. He didn’t do anything to keep the emotions off his face, but cast his eyes downward as though he was ashamed at his reaction. “Thank you, sir,” was all he said—no protest, no defense of his friend. Let Massey think him cowed.

Dr. Massey’s smile was knife-edged, triumphant. “Excellent. I’m so pleased you’re able to see reason, doctor. I’m afraid not everyone is blessed with such clear vision.”

“Speaking of, Professor Gilbert wasn’t being shy with his theories about the attack. You may wish that he cease to express his opinions sooner rather than later.” That was a risk, too, but Gilbert’s life was a price he was willing to pay if it meant worming his way a little further into Massey’s trust.

“Are you volunteering your services, doctor?” Dr. Massey asked. “I told you, I have everything well in hand.”

“Not at all. I can’t be implicated in any more suspicious deaths if I want to keep my infirmary.”

“Your infirmary,” Massey said dismissively. “When I’m Lord Mayor, you can have the Science Division. What value is some half-baked operation on Ω?”

“Really, sir?” Dr. Jhandir’s enthusiasm was genuine, despite himself. The thought of being in command of all those Englishmen who hadn’t cared a whit for him when he had worked under Beck…

“Of course. I can’t think of anyone I’d trust more to continue advancing scientific progress for the good of the city.”

“I would be honored,” the surgeon said breathlessly. Perhaps he could work under a madman after all, if it meant the Science Division. “But until your control over the city is secure, I don’t want to sever the ties I have with the rest of the rebellion. I’m not as bold as you.”

“I understand. Good work bringing this to my attention.”

“Thank you, sir.”

 ***

Dr. Jhandir was still conflicted when he took a seat at a table against the back wall of the Horse and Hounds, hours later. Andrew had told him to just stay put and, more importantly, stay out of trouble, but even with his back to the wall, he found his attention pulled in dozens of different directions as he attempted to examine the crowded pub for potential threats.

“Relax a little,” Andrew said as he slid in next to Dr. Jhandir and handed the doctor a beer. “That bloke who beat you last time hasn’t been seen in months.”

Dr. Jhandir could have guessed as much; it would have been very strange indeed for that man to be seen up and about after what Dr. Jhandir had done to him. He’d have to find a way to reattach his limbs and head, for a start.

Andrew took a big gulp of his beer, then continued: “What possessed you to want to come here, anyway? After the last time, I didn’t think you’d ever set foot here again. Not that I’m complaining, mind.”

Dr. Jhandir took another glance around the room. He’d drawn some curious, maybe even hostile looks when he’d walked in—as if he needed reminding how out of place he was at a disreputable dive like this—but they seemed to have abated.  
  
“Believe me, I never intended to,” Dr. Jhandir replied as quietly as he could manage while still being audible above the pub’s general din. “But I have sensitive information, and there are too many potential eavesdroppers at my infirmary.”

The Horse and Hounds was much busier than the infirmary, of course, but Andrew didn’t say anything, so Dr. Jhandir assumed he understood the difference.

“What could be so secret it drove you here?” Andrew asked, taking another swig of beer before leaning in.

“I know the identity of the mole that’s been causing so much trouble for the botanical society,” Dr. Jhandir said, with another furtive look around the room. He doubted anyone could hear him over the frankly ridiculous background noise, but it never hurt to be cautious.

“Have you told Dr. Massey yet?”

Dr. Jhandir leaned in even further, until he was close enough to smell the cheap beer on his friend’s breath.

“That’s just the problem,” he said. “It is Dr. Massey.”

Andrew swore then, louder than Dr. Jhandir was comfortable with, but apparently that kind of language, at that volume, was common enough here that it didn’t draw any attention. Still, the doctor gestured emphatically to be quiet.

“Jesus,” Andrew said, at a more reasonable volume. “Why’re you telling me? Shouldn’t you be telling Mrs. Spencer-Curtis?”

“Dr. Massey offered me leadership of the Science Division if I keep his secret,” Dr. Jhandir said as neutrally as possible. He didn’t want to rattle Andrew. “I haven’t decided what to do yet, but—”

“But you’re considering it?” Andrew hissed, barely keeping his voice down. “Mother of God, Anil! He got Bart Spencer killed, and a dozen other people hurt! He sold every single one of us, you included, out to the government, but the second he offers you some posh job, all is forgiven?”

“It’s not just that. As a condition of my silence, he promised he’d protect both of us.”

“Did you think that would change my mind?” Andrew’s tone made it quite clear that that was not the case— is normally-pale face was flushed pink, and he’d completely lost control of his volume. “What about Liam? What about Captain French? Celine? Anil, there’s a whole re—botanical society worth of people who don’t deserve to be thrown to the wolves just so you and Vernon Massey can play power games. If you want to throw your lot in with a man who’s been lying to you for years, fine, can’t stop you, but I won’t be part of it.”

Andrew stood, jostling the table. He’d drank enough of his beer that the sudden upset didn’t spill it, but Dr. Jhandir hadn’t touched his own drink (partly out of nervousness and partly because he remembered the stuff being foul), which sloshed over its rim and into his lap.

“Andrew, wait!”

Dr. Jhandir grabbed his friend by the sleeve; Andrew whirled on him, and for a moment, Dr. Jhandir was sure he was about to get punched.

“You’re right,” the doctor said, letting go of Andrew’s sleeve and holding up his hands in a gesture of surrender. “Of course you are. I was so excited at the prospect of finally getting some professional respect that I let myself forget how untrustworthy Dr. Massey is.”

Some of the anger left Andrew’s eyes, and he sat back down. “You can’t’ve seriously thought I’d say, ‘Yes, let’s betray all our friends!’”

Dr. Jhandir sighed. “When Massey first told me what he’d done, I had every intention of turning him in to the other leaders, but he knew exactly how to manipulate me. I think I just needed someone to tell me what a bad idea this was.”

“Bad’s not the half of it,” Andrew grumbled. “What’re you going to do now?”

“I assume he’ll be watching me. He thinks admiration and ambition have blinded me, but he wouldn’t have been able to keep his secrets for such a long time if he’d been incautious. You, though...I don’t think he considers you much of a threat”—though judging by Andrew’s expression, Dr. Massey had miscalculated in that area—“so you could take this information to Mrs. Spencer-Curtis, or even Roger Ridley. We have to assume that Daphne Massey is her husband’s accomplice.”

Andrew nodded. “Sure, I can do that.”

“I’m not completely certain Massey will ignore you,” Dr. Jhandir cautioned. He hadn’t expected Andrew to agree so readily (though perhaps he should have), and he still wanted his friend to understand the risks. “You could be making yourself a target if you do this.”

Andrew laughed, mirthlessly. “Doc, I’m always a target. I can handle myself.”

“Then thank you, Andrew.”

“You’re welcome,” Andrew said. He handed Dr. Jhandir a slightly grubby handkerchief. “Now go get yourself cleaned up."


	3. Dr. Suttler / @closetcellist

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was written by Polyvore user @closetcellist, aka [closetcellist](https://archiveofourown.org/users/closetcellist).

There never seemed to be enough time in the day now, Irving thought as he trudged home, wearily rubbing his eyes. There were always things left undone and, somehow, more and more to worry about. The mole, the Archivist, the Archivist, the mole. For a group with such a noble purpose there seemed to be an awful lot of intrigue and undermining, even as careful as they all were every day. And now, with more former government employees--some admitted assassins, no less!--how were they to keep themselves safe, when apparently they had failed to do so before?

Irving had a brief respite from his thoughts as he opened the door to be greeted enthusiastically by Mallow, who never failed to cheer him. He smiled as he ruffled her fur, closing his eyes for a moment to relax before Alcibiades screeched at him, “Terrible! Terrible!” admonishing him for being late, again.

“I know,” Irving sighed, going to get their food before he fed himself.

As he ate, thoughts that had been rolling around in the back of his mind slid to the front. As little as he liked or trusted some of the newest members of their group, the mole couldn’t be any of them, as they simply hadn’t been around long enough.

But government, that had to be the key, didn’t it? Anyone would know he’d never trusted Dr. Jhandir, and the man had never done anything at all to change his mind about that. In fact, he didn’t seem to care that he wasn’t trusted in the least. It was a brazen attitude certainly, and it wasn’t as though the man had hidden his former-government affiliations, so perhaps it was simply too obvious that the mole be him. Yet, what other way to make someone trust you immediately than to be apparently driven to them with a common enemy hot on your heels?

He believed in Dr. Massey’s leadership, but he couldn’t fathom why them man trusted Dr. Jhandir in spite of his past and his continued bad actions. The two of them met so frequently too--obviously there were reasons, with Dr. Jhandir’s leadership of the base, but the meetings seemed to be longer these days. Perhaps Dr. Massey suspected Dr. Jhandir as well, and was trying to suss him out?

“It has to be him,” Irving murmured.

“Doctor Jhandir!” Alcibiades croaked. Irving looked over at him--he was certain the parrot was just guessing, but sometimes he was a little too accurate at that. “Doctor Jhandir! Delight!”

Irving sighed. “You are never any help,” he admonished the parrot, gently, before getting up to cover his cage. He headed for his own room, taking off his shoes and lying back on the bed, intending only to rest for a moment before he got up and finished some of the million or so things still left to do.

The thought ‘Snakes shed their skin a hundred times, but it’s still the same snake’ drifted across his mind before he succumbed to sleep. His night was not filled with good dreams.


	4. Liz Maximoff / @multifandomgal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was written by Polyvore user @multifandomgal.

There was a mole in the rebellion, that much was obvious, and Elizabeth had hoped that she could figure out who it was and put a stop to them, but alas, some things are much easier said than done. She’d actually started to make some progress, and worked out a few individuals who were more likely to have reasons to be in league with the Hazards, when the rebellion was thrown into some real deep water. What with the Gilded Hall massacre, a boom in business at the gadget shop, and the shocking murder of her mentor-figure Cedric Thornton, Liz had found herself much too busy to even contemplate the mole or anything like that. In all honesty, she believed that the other events going on were much more important right now anyway. 

Things soon started to calm back down again, and Liz decided to continue her investigation, in the hope that it would lead to another of the rebellion’s problems being solved. Currently, her suspicions lied with Vernon Massey, Linus Isham, and Dr. Jhandir, though perhaps the latter two were more out of personal mistrust. However, she wanted to be absolutely certain of the mole’s identity before making any accusations. Fortunately, her suspicions were soon confirmed, as Daphne Massey unmasked her husband as the mole not too long after. Despite the fact that Elizabeth had sort-of known the mole’s identity, the big reveal still came as a bit of a shock, especially as it was his own wife who outed him. Now, Liz could only hope that Mr. Massey would be punished accordingly.


	5. Rebecca Tyler / @lunaofthemiste

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was written by Polyvore user @lunaofthemiste.

Rebecca hadn’t expected dinner to be this awkward, but she didn’t have high hopes. The house felt enormously empty since her father’s death, which was strange since he had never been there that much. However, there was the increased absence of her mother, which forced Rebecca to spend more time with her brother and Octavia.

Octavia was eying Rebecca down across the dinner table, and it took all of her willpower not to make a remark back at her. It was becoming more unbearable each day to continue living with Octavia after she had gotten what she wanted. Worst of all, Octavia had gotten it into her head that she had to arrange Rebecca’s marriage, as if the entire city wasn’t at war.

“Rebecca?” Nathan asked, frowning. “You’ve hardly touched your food.”

“Oh,” Rebecca looked down at her plate. “I am terribly sorry, I’ve lost my appetite. May I be excused?” She asked.

“You don’t have to ask permission…” Nathan trailed off as Rebecca got up and left, doing anything to get away from the pair in the dining room.

As much as Rebecca loved her brother, things were getting out of control. The increased unrest in the city made it more difficult for Rebecca to lie each day to get down to her base. It did help that she was mastering some form of stealth, but lying to her family every day was proving to be a challenge. There was an idea that Rebecca was toying it to solve the problem, but wasn’t ready to act on it.

She made her way down to the base as quick as she could without being seen, eager to see Tristan and get back to work. Although their efforts had been scattered lately, Rebecca had done her best to try and find out who the Archivist really was. The blackmail they had on her could do some serious damage, and it didn’t help that Rebecca was so incredibly guilty about it.

As she made her way into the base, she pulled out a green notebook from one of the drawers in her desk. Inside the notebook were all of her leads regarding the Archivist, and possibly the mole. After all, a person with that many secrets could be the source of the leaks, and the cause of the attacks.

“Already writing away?” Tristan asked, walking in with an eyebrow raised.

Rebecca smiled. “Well, you know me. Always writing.”

“Why do you write like you’re running out of time?”

“It is not me who is running out of time.” Rebecca corrected. “The Archivist is.”

“Rebecca, are you sure this is the best time to investigate this person?” Tristan asked, frowning. “We’re on the brinks of war with the government, and dealing with a mole.”

“The mole and the Archivist might be one and the same.” Rebecca argued. “Someone like the Archivist has the power to bring everything down, government and resistance.”

“But what if it’s a wild goose chase?”

“What if it is not?” Rebecca shrugged. “Besides, it is not interfering with any of my other duties.”

Tristan hesitated. “Just…be careful, please. You don’t know who you’re messing with.”

Rebecca smiled. “I promise I will.”

***

Rebecca wasn’t sure that Tristan would like what she was doing, but figured it would be fine after the fact. Ever since Nori Lynch walked into her base, she had been suspicious of the girl. There were no tells of lying, but her reluctance to say anything made her a suspicious figure.

Of course, this was on top of the whole ‘former assassin’ thing. Rebecca had wondered if Nori had been the one to kill her father, but had tabled the thoughts. Aimless speculation wasn’t going to bring the Baron back.

At the moment, Rebecca was dressed in commoner garb, trailing Nori Lynch the best she could without being seen. She had felt pretty invisible lately, and clung to the thought that her feelings might affect her physical being. However, she knew this wouldn’t be true and she would likely be killed (or at least injured) if Nori noticed her.

She followed Nori to a building with a garage, and worked to notice every detail, anything that might give away why Nori was there in the first place. The place was drab, obviously, but it was definitely upper middle class. It took all of her non-existent skills to not get noticed by Nori as she tried to figure out what she had gotten herself into. Rebecca trailed Nori inside, and watched her enter an office without even knocking.

“Ms. Lynch, I wasn’t expecting you so early.” A voice from inside spoke, and the two began to converse. Rebecca pulled out a small notebook and began to write what she could hear as she eavesdropped on Nori and the mysterious man. It wasn’t until she heard Nori namedrop ‘Albright’ that Rebecca started to put the pieces together.

Percy Albright had been shady for years, and from what Rebecca knew about him, he hadn’t really picked a side. It made no sense that of all people associated with the rebellion, Nori would reach out to him. But the topic of conversation…why Massey? It was odd of two very unrelated people would be discussing someone that they barely knew.

Then they started mentioning other things. An attack, a plan to rid the rebellion of Massey for good. A man’s life was now on the line, as if there weren’t high enough stakes before. Rebecca wanted to stay longer and listen, but decided that time was of the essence and headed back to the base, to hopefully warn Tristan about the attack.

***

Two days later, Rebecca sat once again at her desk in the base, writing in the same journal. The attack had happened, and Nori, not Massey, was killed. It was a bit of a shock, but Rebecca did see it coming. An assassin like that was going to get killed sooner or later. Tristan had been shocked by the attack, but didn’t say much.

Rebecca had been writing, trying to decipher what she had learned. Percy Albright certainly had enough connections, especially since he already knew Nori before she defected. Someone like that had a lot of power, she reasoned.

Someone like that could do a lot of damage.

Rebecca had a breakthrough; she looked through her notes again. Percy dropped bits and pieces of private knowledge like it was everyday facts. There was something more to this man, and the thought of him knowing something about her made Rebecca uneasy. It made sense that Percy could be the Archivist - he had all the means to, after all. The only problem? She had no proof.

But she was sure it was him.

Knowledge is power, she believed, and realized it to be true now. After all, she (hopefully) knew one of the resistance’s darkest secrets, which could be dangerous in the wrong hands, but useful to her now. Blackmail was a powerful weapon, one of the few things she learned from her father.

It was best to keep this tool to herself for now, just in case Percy tried to hurt her or anyone she cared about.

Tristan would be furious if he found out, this Rebecca knew, but she would rather have him hate her than be dead. The less people who knew about this, the safer it was. That was also true to her family. The less they knew about her whereabouts, the better.

It would be better if she just disappeared.

 


	6. Andrew O'Rourke / @delusionsbybonnie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was written by Polyvore user @delusionsbybonnie, aka [DelusionsByBonnie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DelusionsbyBonnie).

“Mr O’Rourke.” The driver of the car didn’t smile, but he nodded stiffly as Andrew ducked into the backseat. At least it seemed Andrew was either trusted or dismissed enough not to need Thompson’s escort; in a city of people who sneered at Irishmen, Thompson was determined to set himself apart in a thoroughly unpleasant way.

The drive passed in silence, smears of buildings passing outside the darkened windows, until the car deposited its passenger in the darkened garage once more. Andrew made his way up to Albright’s office, but to his surprise it was empty, the door left carelessly ajar. He hesitated at the doorframe for a stifling moment, then nudged the door open and entered, workboots silent on the plush carpet. He didn’t really want to touch anything, to make it too obvious that he had been snooping, but the safe tucked behind the great desk was locked anyway.

The desktop, an expanse of softly gleaming dark wood and green felt, was neatly cluttered with an array of items both decorative and practical. A brass writing set, a matching lamp, and in a slick wooden tray, a stack of accounts weighted down by a beetle carved from bright blue stone. It looked ancient and foreign. Andrew resisted the urge to run a finger along the glossy carapace. Beside the desk was a wire wastebasket, a few wadded-up papers cast carelessly into it. Casting a nervous glance at the door, Andrew crouched beside it, smoothing one sheet open. The signature at the bottom sent a spike of cold down his spine. “The Archivist”. So it had been Albright all along, playing him for a fool, playing them all--

Voices from the end of the hallway made him stand abruptly, crumpling the incriminating letter in one fist. He shoved the paper into his coat pocket, and by the time Albright entered, looking pleased, he was standing innocuously in the center of the room, trying his best to look like he hadn’t just stolen some valuable information.

“Ah, Mr O’Rourke. I hope I haven’t kept you waiting too long!” There was a gleam of suspicion in Albright’s eyes, but the smile never twitched.

“No sir. Just got here. Can I ask-- what’s that bug there, on your desk?” Not that Andrew was that curious about the statuette, but it was on the opposite end of the desk from the wastebasket. Anything to redirect attention.

“Ah, my Egyptian scarab! I didn’t know you had an eye for antiquities, Mr O’Rourke.” Albright crossed the room and plucked it from the desktop. “The ancients believed it was a symbol of immortality. Quite a lovely little fellow, isn’t he? But that is not what I wished to discuss with you today.” He replaced the scarab and gestured to one of the leather-upholstered chairs. “Sit, please.”

Andrew sat obediently, feeling sure that Albright would hear the faint crinkle of paper in his pocket. But Albright gave no sign, settling himself in his own chair and pouring a finger-width of something out of a cut-crystal decanter. “I would like to thank you personally for the information about Miss Lynch. It was quite useful. You have a knack for finding… the most useful scrap of knowledge. Very efficient.”

Albright paused to sip at his drink, leaving Andrew to fill the silence. “Just lucky, sir,” he mumbled, and Albright smiled thinly.

“Your modesty does you credit, Mr O’Rourke. But one does hear of the luck of the Irish. Be that as it may, I would like you to turn your… luck toward information about another man whom you may know, or perhaps at least have a mutual acquaintance who can pass on some intelligence. I have recently become interested in Dr Massey, and would appreciate anything you may be able to share about him.”

Albright paused again, and Andrew shifted uncomfortably. “If there’s something I find out, I’ll let you know.”

“Of course. Thank you again for your invaluable services, Mr O’Rourke. I believe you can find your own way out now?”

Andrew could. He accepted the requisite unmarked envelope numbly, hoping the besuited thug transferring it couldn’t tell how the stolen letter in his pocket was scalding him. But no one stopped him, no one behaved at all like this was anything unusual, and the car deposited him back at the warehouse with the blood- and sweat-stained floor. He walked quickly away, hands deep in his pockets. He had to tell someone. He had to find Dr Jhandir--- no, something told him, even his trusted friend was not the right person to approach first. Mrs Howard-Dutch. In a continually evolving Gordian knot of secrets, he trusted the old woman implicitly. He’d go to her. 


End file.
